


Quite a Collection

by krrs



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Flash Fiction, M/M, Other, What In The World Do I Tag This As?, Yes Ive Been Reading A Lot Of Gothic Literature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 21:07:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18599425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krrs/pseuds/krrs
Summary: “Quite a collection, isn’t it?” the one-armed cook asked, his apron pristine. With his only hand behind his back and eyes roaming the portrait hall, he spared no glance to Steve Rogers. He had waited a moment, to see if the cook would look to him; when the waiting proved futile, Steve lifted his glass and swallowed a mouthful of pungent wine to combat the nerves of entering such a dangerous conversation with such an enticing man.





	Quite a Collection

**Author's Note:**

> I've been getting into flash fiction and wanted to give it a try, and Lord It Is Harder Than I Thought. I've had this idea swimming around and thought it'd be interesting to try to limit an idea that would normally warrant me to barf up long, unneeded words and try to hack it down to the bare minimum necessary to tell the same story. Honestly? I might write a longer version of this later where I can be more of a pompous ass about it because that'd be fun, too. Enough blabbering,
> 
> please excuse spelling/grammar mistakes and I hope you enjoy!

“Quite a collection, isn’t it?” the one-armed cook asked, his apron pristine. With his only hand behind his back and eyes roaming the portrait hall, he spared no glance to Steve Rogers. He had waited a moment, to see if the cook would look to him; when the waiting proved futile, Steve lifted his glass and swallowed a mouthful of pungent wine to combat the nerves of entering such a dangerous conversation with such an enticing man.

“If one values ownership over appreciation, I suppose it’s most impressive,” Steve said with eyes following the swirl of his wine glass. The answer received no reply and Steve’s face colored slightly in anticipation. “I apologize, I mean your employer no offense.” 

The cook’s eyebrows were raised, his lips parted just a hair’s width as his eyes finally slid from the painting before him to latch onto Steve. “Of course,” he smiled, teeth glimmering in the gaslight, eyes narrowing without movement until his expression felt to Steve one of a shark gazing upon a seal. Steve fought off a smile.

“Wine makes an ass of me,” he said as he held the cook’s eyes in challenge. The portrait hall was simmering with guests, all finely clothed and leaning far too close to canvas with wine in one hand and cigars in the other for him to feel ease. 

“Wine makes you veracious,” corrected the cook, cocking his head. “Steven Rogers.”

Steve blinked as echoes of boisterous laughter floated towards them. “You know me?”

“I do my work from inside the Stark manor, I know a lot of things about a lot of people,” the cook breathed. “After reading your first two refusals, I must say it took me by surprise to see you here tonight.” Both men’s eyes followed a woman as she sauntered past the pair, far too closely and slowly for her to be attempting anything other than overhearing the famous artist and mysterious cook’s conversation. 

“It seems improper that you’ve read my private correspondence and have yet to introduce yourself,” Steve said once the woman was gone.

“James Barnes.”

“Pleasure.”

“Oh, the pleasure is mine,” insisted James. He then eyed Steve’s empty glass. “Interesting how you’ve enjoyed the wine but not the portrait hall.”

Steve turned the wine glass in hand, thoughtfully frowning. “Is it? I’m afraid my knowledge of wine both begins and ends at differentiating the hues.” Steve smiled.

“It’s a shame one of such quality was sent to wastes on you, then. Tell me, Steve Rogers, what convinced you to at last make a client of Mr. Stark?” James sunk down onto a mulberry lounge, it’s decorative, silken embroidery was paid no mind. Steve pondered in joining beside him.

“Nothing yet.”

“Oh,” glistened James with eyes that shone like marble in a courtyard. Steve sat down to gaze at the pieces hung on the opposite wall, all framed in thick gold and sighed.

“It’s always been prospective, selling to Stark. But I’m very selective of my patrons, as you most likely know, and I firstly was averse to conducting business at all with your employer because of his rather presumptuous nature,” he said. “Again, I mean no offense.”

“It’s quite alright.”

“I do like to see where my paintings will find home. And if they will be appreciated.” Steve stated, nose scrunching as he gestured to the room as a whole. “Forgive me for saying, but it’s evident that my work will not be loved here. The sheer size of these canvases, they’re monstrous! The frames are distasteful at best and the arrangement of them all simply has no device. The longer I spend here, the more strongly I feel in my repudiation. I’m not at all eager to relay my decision to Mr. Stark by the end of the night.”

James laughed, a melodious deep sound that reverberated around the lavish hall. “No, I should think not. He won’t like that.”

The bench was small, their legs almost touched as they sat next to one another, peering at paintings, portraits and guests alike. The pair of them attracted stares. Of what disposition, Steve had trouble determining. 

“Forgive me for asking,” Steve started, “but if you’re a cook, and I’m assuming you are, why are you not in the kitchen?”

James tilted his head, lips twinging upwards. “Mr. Stark would rather me act a socialite on occasion.” This made Steve laugh.

“And why on earth would he rather that?”

James turned to Steve with such a speed that it drove him back an inch or two and his free hand came up to catch his weight. The look upon James’ face was a carefully concealed grimace, one that only Steve was granted access to due to his close proximity. It unsettled Steve greatly.

“There are many cooks employed here, but none with a physicality as _affecting_ as mine. So, in the unlikely event that a guest is not charmed with the dining hall, or the statues in the gardens, or the grand fireplace, or the clothing of their hosts, or the _portrait hall_ , or the _wine_ …” James spoke slowly and his body leaned now toward his companion as Steve’s cheeks lit like hot flame. “Perhaps the deaf butler can offer entertainment by shooting an apple off your head with a crossbow. Or maybe you’d rather participate in a card trick performed by a former thief, now the hired gardener. If those options are too grandiose for your liking, you can always retire to the portrait hall and rumor with the cynical, one-armed cook.”

“I see,” uttered Steve, taste buds turning sour. 

“And should you grow bored of me, Mr. Stark does have quite a collection. Of employees, that is.” 

“If one values ownership over appreciation, once again I suppose it’s most impressive.” Steve stood in disgust and thought to himself that more wine was needed. “And it’s a shame one of such quality was sent to wastes on me.” 

Steve’s shoes sent echoes rippling as he departed from the golden portrait hall of Stark Manor. 


End file.
